The iTunes Complex
by Cracktastical
Summary: Ten drabbles written for Kable and Simon Silverton, because their life is incomplete without music. Kable/Simon slash.


**Author's Notes: **So, I'm finally not busy, and have time to write things. Unfortunately, my muse is a dying horse, and I need to bring it back. To do this, I decided to do this meme thing for a new fandom, Kable/Simon, from the movie _Gamer_. I'll be updating _20k in Thirty Days_ soon, don't worry. The challenge is to write ten drabbles, using ten songs. You're only allowed to write each drabble in the time duration of each song, though, so it was pretty hard.

Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer: They were mine, but then I woke up.**

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* * *

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The iTunes Complex  
_A Set of Drabbles for __**Gamer**_

**The Only Exception – Paramore**

Kable knew that this Slayers thing was a load of crap. He was a _prisoner_, for God's sake, and the mere fact that his body would be controlled by someone else was not a very comforting thing. He's gone through some levels without so much of a scratch, of course, but that's probably out of the sheer luck of his Player.

Who this player is, Kable has no idea. Lately he's been wondering, and his head gives him images of a boy with high-waist pants, thick-rimmed glasses, and enough orthodontia to warrant twenty grand. Kable would have seethed in jealousy if it mattered, but right now, it didn't.

When he dodged bullets and killed people, in that weird way where every part of him was _there_ but _not his_, he felt this weird sense of elation. Who was that on the other side? Who was giving him the ability to do this without missing? It's probably a video game nerd. Most likely someone who's a professional Defense of the Ancients player, with a Ph.D in Counter Strike. Kable doesn't know, but he's curious. Even though it's highly likely he'll never encounter his player, there's this part of him that…

Wel, it's a load of bullshit. Kable knows this. He's never really wanted to know who made him, or who planned whether he'd be alive or dead. He doesn't really believe in God the way those faithful Christians do, or in the mighty one named Allah. Not really. Being controlled by people always seemed a load of crap to him, and if ever that'd happen, then he figured he might as well rather be dead.

This time, though, with that someone controlling him being the reason he's alive, Kable's getting ready to rethink that. Pressing his lips together in a thin line as he enters the area the game is played, again he feels that strange connection, and his body is being controlled by someone else, and not him. He holds up his gun, body ready for battle.

"You're the only exception, player," he mutters, as he moves.

Somewhere else, Simon Silverton grins.

**

* * *

Circle of Life – The Lion King OST**

You live. You grow. You procreate. You die.

It's a circle, Simon figures. You can't help it. It's like what that song in that one movie went – _it's the circle of life, and it moves us all_ – or something akin to that. Simon's never really been one to memorize lyrics to songs he doesn't really give a crap about.

Even though this is so, whenever he logs into that addicting Slayers game (how can he not? Simon Silverton is a _gaming superstar_ – not logging in would be a cardinal sin or something), he wishes that this 'circle' isn't true. Sure, he can handle the dying. He can handle the growing. He can _definitely_ handle the procreating part, or so that's what his teenage hormone-driven part says. The death part, though? Maybe in real-life, that's alright. Maybe it's okay if it isn't in a game, since you lose experience points and all that if you **do** die in a game.

Simon realizes how twisted that sounds.

Okay, so dying isn't really his top priority. He doesn't think about it much, decides that he can live just thinking about the **being alive** part.

But in Slayers, you _have_ to think about death. You have to remember that it's a circle, and this is more than a game, even if you're controlling psychos on death row.

Simon hates it, that he has to control someone, even though most of him is ecstatic. He hates it because he's connected to Kable, even if he can help it.

He needs him, and Kable probably needs Simon, too.

* * *

**Halfway There – Big Time Rush**

"So, you're Simon Silverton?"

The voice is husky, raspy. It's deep and Simon's heart thrums in his chest at the thought of hearing that voice more often. The teenager looks up, for the first time in his life, speechless, and then clears his throat.

_They've gone through life and death together, __**literally**__. Simon knows that it's probably stupid, feeling a connection to a former prisoner who's married with child. He can't just blame it on that stupid program, though, the one that literally made him and Kable one person. But how can he not? He's been with Kable for a long time, and although they'd only spoken for the last battles they spent together, Simon feels like he can tell the man anything._

"Yeah," Simon says, inhaling, before grinning. "I'm the bad-ass motherfucker who controlled you, Kable."

The taller man smirks a little (and Simon's heart jumps), and something in the middle of chuckle and laugh comes from his throat. He extends his hand, and Simon clutches it carefully, pale cheeks coloring.

"Kable, but you knew that. I guess it's you and me again," he says, as his hand slowly slips away from Simon's clutches. Simon feels this weird emptiness when Kable does, but shakes that feeling off. It might just be his imagination, or some cold draft came from his closed windows. He shrugs his shoulders, Simon, and Kable continues, a little carefully. "I mean… this is a whole new journey. Uh." Kable stumbles on his words, and Simon finds it adorable. "… Well, Angie and I sort of lost the magic, so I guess you and I'll be spending more time together, but considering this is the first time we've met –"

"Kable," Simon says, holding up a hand, shaking his head. The rambling prisoner before him sets his eyes on the teenager, and Simon places that hand on the taller man's shoulder. "We've spent _a billion_ fucking _weeks_ together. I'd like to say we're halfway there already on this bullshit 'whole new journey'."

"I wouldn't really call it 'bullshit'."

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty damn magical."

* * *

**Thunder – Boys Like Girls**

"You know, you're pretty weird for a seventeen year old," Kable says one day, as he runs through life and death in a virtual world. Simon laughs, and Kable can hear it in his mind, and as creepy as that sounds, it really isn't. Simon shrugs, and Kable's body follows the movement, and then Simon apologizes briefly and continues onward, making his i-con run. "Really. You're a weird kid, and I haven't met a lot of kids."

Simon thinks of an ample reply, but the only thing that comes to mind is a question in return.

"Why?" he asks, as he aims the weapon and kills someone with a headshot (or, _Kable_ kills someone with a headshot – the line sort of blurred after those infinitely many battles together). Kable snorts and continues to run, controlled by a seventeen year old running on nut butter and grape jelly. "Easy," answers the prisoner, shooting once more. "You're controlling _me_, a _prisoner_, in a gory battlefield seventeen year olds shouldn't witness."

"Don't hate, bro. Masturbate."

"I can't really do that in a battlefield, kid."

"Oh. In that case, do it in your prison cell or something, after dinner. It'll make you feel better."

"Why am I talking to you again?" Kable asks the voice in his head, throwing a smoke grenade and a real one after it; the explosion making lights explode in both his and his Player's heads. Simon gives another laugh, Kable having to follow it after the split-second response, and suddenly Simon stops, realizing that his i-con had to follow.

"Sorry again," Simon says, and Kable waves it off (sort of).

"And, the reason you talk to me is simple, Kable." Simon grins as he says this, Kable beginning to fire rapidly.

"Oh? How so? Enlighten me," Kable says, sardonically. Simon's lips pull up into something akin to a creepy smile, and Kable knows this because his lips follow suit.

"Oh, you know. My voice is the soundtrack of your summer, don't you know I'm unlike any other? I'll always be your thunder, I say – "

Kable shouts something akin to 'shut up' as he reaches the checkpoint, and the game ends with a win in his favor.

* * *

**Bad Romance – Lady Gaga**

Kable is surrounded by enemies.

"Shit," he mumbles, unsure of what to do. They're all ready to fire at him, and the man swallows thickly. It's when a voice reaches his mind that he nearly jumps, but thank _God _he doesn't.

"Just relax, Kable. Leave everything to me," Simon purrs in the warrior's head, and Kable is confused – about to ask why. Simon catches it, however, immediately pressing his lips together for the prisoner to follow, and Kable finds it annoying how a seventeen year old can control his every move.

"I know the perfect way to get your enemies to be distracted."

Kable raises a brow, and then suddenly his hands are descending into his pants, and his eyes widen at the implications, grey optics refusing to accept what's happening.

"I told you, I can't do that in a battlefield – "

"Shut up. I know what I'm doing."

It's with this that, in a separate window, Simon begins to play his playlist – specifically his Lady Gaga one, and the song that plays is Bad Romance. Of course, considering the fact that Kable can hear _everything_ Simon does, his eyes widen.

"What the _hell_, kid!"

"Whoa-oh-oh-oh-_oh_," Simon begins singing, moving his body in the moves of Lady Gaga. Kable's eyes widen as his own body follows suit, his movements resembling someone going through epilepsy. They're jerky and sharp, and Simon continues to sing the song, noticing how some of the other players stared at him and decided to ceasefire. Eventually, they join, and Simon grins because he's begun something.

"You know that I want you, and you know that I need you," he whispers into Kable's mind, and _God_ – the prisoner isn't going to lie. That was a little hot, a little bit of a boost, and Simon terminates his control of Kable – the prisoner running far from the group of people who danced Lady Gaga with him, uncapping a grenade.

"Bye bye, bitches," he and Simon say simultaneously, and the grenade is thrown.

Later, when their connection is about to be terminated, Kable is smiling a little. "You're a lifesaver, kid," he says, sighing. "How can I repay you?"

Simon licks his lips. "Dance that for me."

"… What?"

"In latex."

"… What?"

"You heard me. Dance Bad Romance for me in latex."

Kable chokes in air.

"No. No _way_. Not in a million years," he says, grimacing. Simon laughs, and Kable laughs with him, and everyone stares at him.

"We're caught in a bad romance, Kabes. You can't help it."

* * *

**You're Not Sorry – Taylor Swift**

"… You're back with her."

That's the first thing Kable hears when he opens the door to Simon's bachelor pad, grey eyes holding a look of worry as he walks in. Simon is sitting on the couch, eyes swollen, the sweet oceanic color turned into _something else_. They're stormy, but they're watering, and Simon has to wipe away a quick tear. Kable's heart breaks, but he knows just what Simon is talking about. He's been gone for three days, and Simon's probably seen the tabloids. Simon's probably seen the pictures, too.

The teenager swallows, and he shuffles, fumbling – because suddenly he doesn't feel comfortable having a thirty-something year old man in his living room. Simon doesn't know what to do, his hands looking as though they'd reach out for Kable – but in their fragility, they hesitate, and then they flutter back down to his lap, where his fingers curl and uncurl into his pajama pants.

"What?" Kable says, trying to play dumb. Simon's breaths become shuddery, wispy.

"You're back with _her_," he replies, softly, voice hoarse from crying. Kable walks over to the chocolate-haired boy, and he takes him in his arms. For the first time, Simon doesn't feel comfortable, and everything suddenly just _doesn't fit anymore_.

"Don't," Simon says, and Kable's heart thrums in his chest. The younger of the two reaches upward, giving those lips he loves _so much_ a chaste kiss, and Simon relishes in it. Kable doesn't understand, _can't_, but he kisses back – because what else can he do?

When Simon pulls away, there is this look in his eyes. Kable has to hold his breath at the messages they give him.

_Why did you pick her?_

_Why did you pick Angie over me?_

_How could you, when you promised me you'd never leave?_

_Why did you do that?_

_**Why**__?_

_**How could you break my heart like this?**_

"I'm sorry." Kable's breath leaves him in that sentence, and Simon shakes his head.

"No, Kable. You're not."

* * *

**Hips Don't Lie – Shakira**

Kable knows he shouldn't be laughing, but how can he not?

Simon's in his senior year, and it's the annual talent night for high school students. He's been chosen for the last act, the finale. Kable was, at first, ecstatic that his quirky little lover had managed to be chosen for something like that, but Simon grumbled when he gave the ex-con the news. Kable didn't understand it at first, of course, but Simon told him that he would once the talent night would come upon them. Kable thought Simon was overreacting, like he tended to do when Kable ate all his nut butter, but now that the night's come…

The poster certainly didn't leave you guessing. It had Simon on it, wearing some deliciously feminine clothing, which were probably a few sizes too tight for him. Simon's face was supposedly fierce and attractive, and from some of the guys who got boners over it, Kable figured that Simon did his job plenty well. Then again, Kable knew him better than that. Simon's fierce and attractive face was much sexier than that dumb poster showed.

But he's laughing, now, with all those things out of the window and out of his mind.

Simon is dancing to _Hips Don't Lie_, body moving in a fluid manner as he tries to look like he's enjoying it. Kable doesn't know who suggested this song, considering it was definitely **not** kid-friendly, but he doesn't mind. For the first part, it's amusing, and then a girl comes on wearing men's clothing, and begins dancing with Simon, and Kable's filled with this sense of jealousy. If Simon can move like _that_, then he most definitely should be moving like that with _Kable_, and not some blond girl.

The rest of the night has Kable grumbling, and when Simon gets into the car, Kable drives for a bit before swerving, parking in a no-parking zone and leaning over to press his mouth against Simon's – effectively shutting up the boy's cries of _what the hell, Kabes?_

"That," Kable growls against pale flesh as he marks the boy, biting into flesh and causing Simon to moan; an erection beginning to form in those tight pants. "Is for not telling me you could dance like that."

Simon whimpers a little, and when Kable's kisses trail underneath his shirt, biting him harder and causing him to gasp at the unexpected pain, he arches his back. It's rather uncomfortable in a car, really, and—

"And _that_ is for dancing like a whore around some blond bimbo without warning me further."

It's because of this that Simon does not come back to school on Monday, or on Tuesday, and why on Wednesday, he couldn't sit down properly at all.

* * *

**American Love – Jack's Mannequin**

Simon is a beautiful boy, Kable realizes as he kisses those cherry-red lips, swollen from the ravishing Kable had begun a few minutes ago. Pretty fingers tangle into Kable's short cut, Simon bucking his hips as Kable's hand slides further downward into private territory – cornflower blue eyes widening before shutting tight. There are sweet whimpers that come from Simon's lips, his frame shuddering when Kable's sloppy kisses (he couldn't be bothered with trying hard, since Simon didn't care, didn't give a _fuck_—) trail over his jaw and down to his neck.

"You're _mine_," Kable growls into that soft flesh, teeth digging into the curve of Simon's neck – the boy tilting his head for more access, moaning when the hand in his pants moves with an experienced flick of the wrist. "Mine, Simon. _Mine_."

Simon whines, moans, struggles – and his virgin status is so obvious that Kable's beginning to feel a little guilty for taking advantage of it. Then again, Simon left plenty of hints, and Kable knew he wanted this as much as he did.

When Simon climaxes, he calls Kable's name in ecstasy, body arching into a muscled one, pale body shuddering as he enters cloud nine.

Simon is beautiful, but not as beautiful as Angie. If Kable has to settle for second-best, though, then he will.

He kisses Simon again, but doesn't look him in the eye.

* * *

**Found A Way – Drake Bell**

This should be impossible, Kable thinks, as he looks into the eyes of his Player – a lanky teenage boy of seventeen years, whose name escapes him at the moment. He has beautiful blue eyes, chocolate-colored hair, and pale skin reminiscent of the moon. The boy cracks a sweet smile, holding out his hand, and Kable is wary of it, at first.

"Hi," says the boy, whose lips do not falter in that smile. They're pink and kissable, and Kable finds his eyes falling onto them for a moment, before looking back into blue eyes. "I'm Simon. You're Kable, right? You're pretty bad-ass."

Kable takes the hand, shakes it carefully, his lips pressing together to form a thin line. He does not know what to think of this, of the insanity of it, and of the fact that _Simon should not be in front of him right now, while he's playing in-game, even if he's in a safe area._

"How'd you get here?" Kable growls, voice gruff, and Simon shrugs his shoulders, before laughing. Kable's body doesn't follow suit, and he knows that Simon isn't controlling him, and _what the hell, his mind is getting fucked_.

Simon's hand slips away from Kable's grip, and his fingers crawl into his pockets.

"We're one person, you know. It wasn't hard to find you."

Kable raises a brow at this.

"In stupid dumbass terms, I found a way, Kabes. You don't want to know the details."

And Kable really, _really_ doesn't.

* * *

**Black or White – Michael Jackson**

"You suck."

Kable wakes up to a pouting Simon Silverton, the boy holding up a box of chocolates with a death glare on his face. He rubs his eyes, then, sitting up on the couch, staring at the chocolates in Simon's hand, taking it and checking the expiration date. "No, I don't," Kable says, easily, yawning. "It's not expired, so I don't suck. The last time I gave Angie chocolates, they expired three years before."

Simon shakes his head, a cute little pout on his lips, and Kable has to try _so hard_ not to jump him. It's Simon's birthday, and chocolates are only part one. Part two involves taking the boy out. Part three involves spending the day with him. Part four involves more rated M things that must not be discussed.

"They're _white_ chocolate, Kable," Simon says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Kable raises a brow at this, opening the box and taking out one of the chocolates, popping it into his mouth. "It doesn't taste bad, Simon. It's actually pretty fucking sweet. I thought you'd like it," Kable replies, chewing the chocolate and looking up at Simon through confused grey eyes.

Simon shakes his head.

"That's it. They're _too_ sweet, you dunderhead."

Kable's lips break into a smile, and then he full-out laughs.

"It shouldn't matter if it's white or dark chocolate, you know," he says, but Simon shakes his head profusely. "I might get cavities, Kable! I _hate_ dentists!"

And this is why Kable uses the dark chocolate syrup when he covers Simon in it in part four of his birthday plan.

- _Owari _-


End file.
